


Take Me

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Despair, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Horror, M/M, Murder, Past Rape/Non-con, Slavery, Suicide, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: It's been years since Qui-Gon has thought of the little boy he left on Bandomeer. When he goes to visit former Jedi Dooku for a much-needed vacation, he encounters someone who reminds him.





	Take Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ties that Bind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556507) by [opencirclefleet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opencirclefleet/pseuds/opencirclefleet). 



> This is going to get ugly.

 

“I hear he's a warrior-priest,” one said with dread.

But the other stared down at the guest with a strange expression on his face, one almost cruel. “Let me. I'll go.”  
“Are you sure? He might hurt you,” the matron warned.

A faint smile touched the slave's mouth.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon groaned as he sank deep into the giant chair, letting his bare toes dig into the thick rug. The fire warmed his face and sent beautiful shadows across the richly appointed room.

“Why haven't I done this before?” he murmured.

Dooku chuckled from where he sat in a matching chair. “Because you usually have something better to do when granted leave, which points suspiciously in the direction of indicating you've found someone special.”

Qui-Gon sighed. No. That was perhaps the only reason that _wasn't_ involved.

“There hasn't been anyone since Tahl. Not even casual.”

Dooku's eyes widened, his dignified eyebrows arching. “Ridiculous. That is half your trouble. Let me send someone to you this evening.”

“I  _won't_ with a slave,” Qui-Gon growled, and yes. He knew why he'd avoided visiting his retired master's estate.

Dooku didn't seem offended. “He asked for you specifically. Seemed quite set on it. His social status should not take away his ability to give consent, should it? Just have a look at him, see if you're interested. You can send him away if you like. He does not often get to choose, and he very much desires you.”

“Alright.” Though he  _wouldn't_ touch the man that way. He would feed him delicacies from Dooku's kitchen, give him an evening's chance to lounge and do whatever he pleased in the shelter of Qui-Gon's suite, and then be sent on his way unviolated.

_If I'm going to be here, I have to at least make life better for_ someone.

Otherwise the gentle comfort of this chair, the scents in the air, the exotic and cherished plants that sang of the Force would become accusers that Qui-Gon could not bear to face.

_How could you, master? How could you go from being a Jedi to a_ slave  _owner?_

_It doesn't matter that they were here, waiting for you when you left the Order. Doesn't matter most of them have served your bloodline for generations._

_It's still wrong._

 

* * *

 

He'd expected to have a chance to prepare his room before his guest arrived, but when he stepped in the door to retire for the evening, he found the bed he'd left rumpled perfectly made, the boots and nightclothes tossed anywhere carefully draped on a chair and the boots tucked underneath it.

And there, sitting by the table, was a beautiful creature.

Qui-Gon had expected him to be dolled up in accentuating clothes, perhaps makeup, perfume, something,  _anything_ other than what sat before him now.

The man smiled.

He was no quivering teenager, lines of years were etched by his eyes. He sat with grace, holding himself as if he respected the individual he was, and everything about his attire was neat, clean, quiet.

“I hope I have not overstepped in tidying your things,” the man spoke up, his voice musical and cultured as he set aside the leather-bound volume he'd been perusing, “but I cannot bear to see a room out of harmony with itself.”

Qui-Gon found himself standing in the door, realizing his plan to patronize this man might do little more than insult him. “Is that Master Shan's  _Theory of Retribution_ ?”

“Yes. Are you fond of it?”

A chuckle escaped him. “Too dry for my tastes. I never managed to muddle my way through more than a few pages. Why? What do you think of it?”

“I think it was ill-named. What she speaks of is not revenge, but the thought that all actions have far reaching consequences, and what would happen were we to see and feel the results, years later. Not a suffering intentionally inflicted for payback, but an awakening to understand the influence we've left on the universe, one that trickles from generation to generation.”

Qui-Gon tried to conceal his surprise, mind backpedaling so quickly he nearly wanted to run from the room.

The man rose, dignified grace in the movement. “Please. Do not fear me.”

“I think there has been a mistake. May I offer you refreshments?”

And then the other man was standing so close, head tipped back to look up into Qui-Gon's eyes. “I did not come here hoping for books or food. Those I can find on my own. What is rare for me is to find a man who sees me as a man.”

Qui-Gon's heart pounded in his throat. Dear Force, did the slave have to be so desirable?

“Looking in your eyes, I wonder if I might not have a chance to find companionship tonight.”

“Do you want this?” Qui-Gon asked, trying to read that open, cultured expression. “Or are you here because Dooku wants you to be?”

A smile touched his lips. “The Count told everyone you would prefer to do things for yourself and to stay out of your way. But seeing you, I felt a desire I have not felt in a long time. I asked him to ask for me, fearing you would see me as a slave, not a man, if I were to ask you myself.”

“May I kiss you?” Qui-Gon found himself whispering, captivated by those lips—

“Yes.”

He tasted warm and soft, his body moulding to Qui-Gon's as delicate fingers came up to rest against the larger man's shoulder and bicep.

A hunger, long silent stirred through Qui-Gon. He wrapped his arms around the smaller figure, loving how pliable he felt beneath his hands.

Ethical questions fell out of Qui-Gon's head.

All he knew was here stood a man who wanted him, who he wanted, who didn't care if Qui-Gon still loved a twenty-four-years-dead woman. A man whose languor was melting into a gentle urgency, rocking his hips against Qui-Gon's, breathing quickening, pupils blowing wide and a flush spilling across his fair skin.

Qui-Gon guided him to the bed, helping him out of his simple clothing as they went, clever fingers finding the catches in his own tunics to slide them off his shoulders.

Finally undressed, the man sank to the bed, drawing Qui-Gon after him.

The Jedi found him already prepared, loose and slick, body trembling with need and fingers drawing him down into another open-mouthed kiss.

Qui-Gon tested his readiness with his fingers, just to be sure, locating the jar of slick on the side table to coat himself.

“Yes,  _yes,_ ” gasped his partner.

Qui-Gon shuddered as he pressed into him, all thoughts washed away in pure sensation, the Living Force trembling around them as two lives for a moment nearly merged into one.

Dear  _Force_ he'd missed this.

He hadn't known how much—

Beautiful, needy, quiet whimpers of pure pleasure escaping those sinful lips—

“Faster,” he begged in a whisper.

Qui-Gon paused deep within him, concerned by the slight wrinkle of pain in this mind. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Faster.”  
“Perhaps we should wait until you've adjusted a little, beautiful one.”

“ _Please,_ ” the other sounded desperate now. “Take me, Master—”

Qui-Gon recoiled, sliding free and standing by the bed, staring down at his temporary partner in horror. The sob in the voice, the  _words—_

A child staring up at him with tears streaming down his cheeks, begging for one last chance—  _“Take me, Master, please— don't leave me here, please—”_

“Who are you?” Qui-Gon demanded.

Startled, unhappy,  _confused_ eyes stared up at him. “I am a slave, my lord. I have no name.”

“What was your name  _before_ ?”

“There is no  _before._ I was born here.”

Qui-Gon searched those gray eyes, pulse hammering in his throat, hands trembling.  _Is the age right?_ He tried to fumble with dates, but his brain wasn't working, it was too horrified. “Do you remember me?”

“I should think I would remember a man of your beauty.” The other propped himself up on his elbows, legs still spread, not a shred of shame to be discerned. “Perhaps I misread, however?” There was hesitation in his voice. “Would you like me to pretend I  _do_ know you? I thought— I thought you wanted me to be  _me._ ”

Qui-Gon nodded wordlessly, trying to recover from that moment of panic.

_Easy, Qui-Gon Jinn._

“Please,” the soft voice pleaded. “Come back to bed. Let me be myself and leave the ghosts of the past to haunt themselves for this moment. I need this. I need you tonight.”

He obeyed, wanting to regain the moments of pure experience once again, needing to flee the guilt that had ambushed him unawares.

Aching, needing release, he slipped within the welcoming body of the other again, finding him accepted with a murmur of appreciation.

This time Qui-Gon sensed no pain, and when pleading eyes were lifted to his, Qui-Gon acquiesced, fripping him hard. The other cried out in pleasure, dragging light fingernails across his back and moving to meet him, their desperation in sync.

He could feel the body shuddering beneath his, saw the break in glazed gray eyes, heard the change in his voice. He was so close himself— he caressed the length of his lover, his balls, sensed them tighten in his hand—

“I'm going to explode!” gasped the man beneath him. “ _Master_ !”

Qui-Gon reared back, not sure he could  _handle_ what had just escaped that mouth— but hands clung to him, sobbing, “Please don't leave me here, please let me come—”

Qui-Gon's hips snapped forward one last time on instinct and the slave came with a cry. Qui-Gon found himself losing it too, but almost before he was done he pulled free, seizing the slave's jaw with his fingers.

He read pain in the younger man's eyes at the harsh touch.

“ _Who are you?_ ” Qui-Gon screamed in his face.

Gray eyes blanked, then understanding dawned, cruel and sad. It tore Qui-Gon's guts out.

“A slave. A whore. Worthless.”

No, that's not what he was doing, he wasn't trying to put in the man in his place! He needed to  _know—_ “ _Was your name Obi-Wan Kenobi_ ?”

“Please,” the slave choked out, clearly terrified by the menacing giant of a man pinning him to the bed. “My name is Ben!”

“ _Get out_ !”

The slave scrambled to obey, escaping the bed and catching up his clothes, trying to cover himself, staring at Qui-Gon with wide, abused eyes. “You... have no further use for me, then?”  
The classic,  _compelled_ words, he could be beaten if he didn't say them—

The knowledge sent the last of Qui-Gon's composure smashing into smithereens. “Get  _out!_ ”

And he did.

 

* * *  
  


Qui-Gon fled to the shower, struggling to rid himself of the  _filthy_ feeling that clung to his skin, his soul, inside his nostrils.

Leaning his head against the tiled wall, he thought of the little boy, so long ago, a collar rigged to explode around his neck.

The willingness to allow it to tear his small form limb from limb.

The quiet begging, after escaping that hell without dying,  _please let me come with you._

_Please take me._

Silent, broken sobs, a thirteen-year-old's hopes and dreams shattered on his birthday—

_I did that._

And a voice that when it sobbed sounded like  _his,_ words reminding him too much—

_You abused a slave. He offered you his trust, and you gave him reason to think you're just like all the others. Dear Force, Jinn!_

And here was the true reason he'd avoided sex since Tahl's death.

_I thought the past would follow me into the bedroom._

_I just didn't know it was going to punish a man who did nothing wrong._

_Force forgive me._

 

* * *

 

It took some asking around, but Qui-Gon managed to locate Ben just outside the kitchen in the early dawn.

“Ben?”

Gray eyes lifted to his, concerned, shuttered. “Yes, my master?”  
He couldn't let the way this man's lips formed the word  _master_ send him into such a frenzy again.  _Don't scare him further._ “I want to apologize for my behavior last night.” 

“It is my place to accept whatever you willed to do with me,” was the quiet reply.

Qui-Gon found it difficult,  _so_ difficult to match his calm. “What are you doing here by the kitchens? I was under the impression menial labor wasn't among your list of duties.”

An eyebrow arched at him in a scandalous way.

Qui-Gon winced. He'd meant there weren't rough callouses on the hands, or sunburn on the face—

“I am valuable, yes. Many want me here. But I find a lack of all labor goes against my nature. I would find sitting on pillows all day to be aggravating. 'Course, I am not allowed any task that might damage my appearance, so the stables are out of the question.”

_Aggravating. Course._

_AgriCorps._

He searched the gray eyes for any signs of hidden meaning, but they were clear—

_My conscience. Feeling guilty, inventing shadows—_

“...sounded like a pirate band. Merely two tookas fighting in the garbage bin, as it turns out—”

Qui-Gon had tried to apply his mind to the story mostly over by the time he realized it was being told only to have his heart flip flop again.  _Band. Mere. Bandomeer?_

_Pirates?_

_Pull yourself together, Jinn!_

“... sometimes from offworld, sometimes masters who own friends of mine—”

_Offworld? Mines? This can't be a coincidence._ How  _could it be a coincidence?_

“...preferring to lie abed 'till morning, rather than a toss-away whore.”  
The younger man's  _than_ slurred just a little into what could almost be a  _z,_ and Qui-Gon felt the last of his sanity go.

_Zan a toss? Xanatos._

But the child Obi-Wan had always pronounced the  _tose_ as a soft  _toss._

“What are you doing?” Qui-Gon interrupted. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Again, the eyebrow flicker. “I was under the impression you wished to know more about me. Would my silence be more to your pleasure, my Lord?”

“Are you missing any memories?” Qui-Gon asked, searching his face. “Could you possibly have lost any?”

“Nothing major, at any rate. Perhaps small things, but who doesn't the small, unimportant irritations that loiter beneath the feet whimpering for attention they don't deserve?”  
“Are you—?” Qui-Gon shook his head. “Are you _remonstrating_ with me?”  
“For what? Last night? You already apologized,” asked the slave, clearly baffled.

“For what I did to you, long ago.”  
“What is it you have done to me? If you wish me to know, you will have to inform me, seeing as I've never seen you before, and have no knowledge of your hand in my life earlier than last night. It was a lovely hand.” The lips quirked up. “I should be willing to show my appreciation of it—”

Qui-Gon's face twisted in a disgusted grimace. “That  _won't_ be happening.”

The pleasant expression faded from the slave's face, leaving strained worry behind.

“Please. I can prove I am worthy of your time. If I do not consistently bring satisfaction, they may throw me out. Send me to the fields.”

With the growl of a nexu that's been poked with a stick between the bars of its cage for too long, Qui-Gon shoved the slave up against the wall and stared with blazing eyes down into the innocent face. “I see you,” Qui-Gon hissed, nearly mad from the needling.

“I remind you of someone, don't I?” Ben whispered back. “Someone you'd like to forget. Someone who wronged you? Would you like to punish me for their darkness, their sins against you, your hand a collar around my neck? I care not, as long as I  _please._ I beg of you, do not let them send me away.”

Qui-Gon discovered he was trembling, even as his hands bracketed the slave, one on the wall by his head, the other planted on the wall caging his opposite hip.

“Was I so terrible a lay?” Ben asked, eyes filling with sorrow. His grief punched straight through Qui-Gon's soul. “Is there nothing in me of worth?”

“ _You_ are Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Qui-Gon asserted, but he didn't feel confident of it. The cool and collected man from the night before had vanished, the true face of slavery revealing itself in the protracted wince in the slave's eyes.

“If that is what you want me to be, then yes. I am whatever you make of me.”

“I don't want to make  _anything_ of you! I just want the truth!”

But still the confusion in those eyes, laced so heavily with fear. “I will become anything you desire of me. Mould me as you will.”

Qui-Gon pulled back, walking away without a single glance back.

_If he's messing with me, he's a master of deception and wordplay._

 

* * *

 

The day was pleasant, the windows open, beautiful birdsong twining through the room.

But Qui-Gon found no comfort in the massive chair, staring at the embers of the fire that had been allowed to die down.

Dooku entered the room with a quiet smile and, “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“The boy you sent to my quarters. Where did you get him from?”

“Exquisite, isn't he?” Dooku looked pleased, and it made Qui-Gon's gut flip. “Lucky acquisition. He was going to be auctioned off to one of the lower brothels— not a  _mark_ on his body— and they were going to sell him for the price of a pretty whore. Granted, he was nothing more than a child at the time, and there was little beauty in his face then, but looking at him I  _knew._ It's shameful how little I paid for him, but my gamble certainly paid off, did it not?”

Qui-Gon's gaze fell away, finding one of the sweet voices in a cage, slightly hidden by the plants in the room.

His appreciation for the music turned sour.

_Even_ you  _are not free._

“He told me he'd been born here.”  
“And so he was. The last of any previous life he shed, and stepped into a new life. For many years I had him shadowing the eunuchs and pleasure slaves, tending their wounds, listening to their wisdom—”

Qui-Gon's fingers dug into the chair's arms. “You let a  _child_ be  _abused_ ?”

“None of them touched him. The one who thought he might, died. I had ways of keeping the boy safe, but by the time I was willing to let him be touched, he knew what he needed, and he swift learned the rest. Why? Did he not please?”

“He did everything he could.”

Dooku's eyebrows arched. “I confess to being at a loss. How did he fail to please?”

_How did he indeed?_

But Qui-Gon wasn't thinking of last night.

 

* * *

 

In the shelter of his room, now cleared of any sign of last night's activities, Qui-Gon hunched over his holodisk, not quite able to look Yoda in the eye.

“Your questions, I have answers for. But also, needed your expertise is, for other matters. Sent your Padawan to rendezvous with you, I have. Be there soon he will. Sorry to cut short your free time, I am.”

“But about the boy?”

 

* * *

 

The story was a sad one, and simple to tell. Yoda did, reading the distress in his grand-padawan's eyes.

_“Why didn't you tell me at the time that he went missing?”_

Yoda felt an old grief welling up within him. “Never wanted to hear another word about him you said. Very clear, you made it. Searched for years did we. No trace of him could we find. Why? Found him, have you?”

_“I don't know.”_

 

* * *

 

Anakin was unprepared to hear a  _pssst_ from an alcove concealed by plants. 

He was even more unprepared for the mischievous, lustful smile peering out at him between the leaves.

“Waiting for someone?”

“I'm an hour early,” Anakin dismissed.

A body, small and beautiful slipped out of hiding, dressed in quiet freeman's clothing, their wearer looking to be a few years older than Anakin himself.

“All alone?”

_He's hitting on me,_ Anakin realized with a shiver. 

And it felt good. He allowed himself to banter, to be drawn into speaking of his home, his place at Qui-Gon's side, his hopes.

Pale fingers adjusted his tabbards, a familiar gesture, a winsome smile playing with the lips of the other man.

_I'm not available,_ what was left of the nine-year-old in his heart insisted.  _I'm in love with a Queen._

But he was eighteen, he was an  _adult,_ and he was never going to see the woman he'd fallen in love with nine years ago again, and this man was  _beautiful_ and wanted just a quick dalliance—

The way those lips formed the word  _frip_ with that Coruscanti accent had Anakin gasping, “Yes,” and hands reflexively moving to hold Ben's ass as his new acquaintance wrapped his legs around Anakin's waist and rocked eagerly against him, claiming his lips in a heated, needy kiss.

_Dear Force._

He'd had casual liaisons before, but nothing with someone so intoxicating— he couldn't let this one get away—

Seeing the hall still deserted, knowing he had a good half hour before anyone expected him, Anakin pushed between the leaves of the plant into the hidden alcove and placed Ben's back to the wall.

A soft giggle had Anakin desperately kissing at the other's throat.

_He is so far out of my league, but he wants_ me.

This was a moment he would savor a long time.

 

* * *

 

“What did he see in you, Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn?” Obi-Wan whispered, squeezing his legs and rubbing against his eager replacement. “Light. Must have seen so much light in one so young.”

Anakin chuckled, pulling Obi-Wan's ass closer. “Not really,” he mumbled into skin. “I have so much darkness in me that Yoda didn't even want me trained. And I was too old to be admitted to the Order, but Qui-Gon took me anyway.”

The words lanced through Obi-Wan's heart with their ring of truth.

_So it's not my circumstances that were unforgivable._

_It was_ me.

Anakin sucked at his neck, rutting up against him, but Obi-Wan had what he needed.

He leaned closer, tucking his nose by Anakin's ear, and peeled the protective cover off the tip of his thumbnail with the forefinger of the same hand. Raising the razor-sharp edge to his own throat, he slit his carotid, digging deep to lay open his esophagus and trachea.

It took Anakin a second to realize something was wrong.

And then he was dragging Obi-Wan into the hall, lowering him to the ground, applying pressure to the wound, screaming for assistance, activating his comlink—

His face swam before Obi-Wan's eyes, the face of a man who did not yet realize the blood spilling all over them both had been shed intentionally by its owner.

 

* * *

 

“What do you  _mean,_ he's a slave?” Anakin wailed. “He was wearing a freeman's clothes!”

Dooku ignored him, instead focusing on the doctor inspecting the slave lying pale and still on the bed.

Qui-Gon, afraid Ben would be punished for stealing clothes, sent his Padawan a shushing look.

“He clearly did not think that if you knew his status, he could get from you what he wanted,” the doctor offered. “Whatever that was.”  
Anakin stared in grief at the body hooked up to multiple machines simply to keep existing. “I don't— I thought he wanted— he seemed to want to have sex with me.”

“Clearly that wasn't his end goal,” Dooku pointed out dryly, “or he would have slit his throat  _after_ .”

“Think, Padawan,” Qui-Gon urged. “What did he say?”

“He flirted with me. Very clearly. And then we were kissing, and I had him against the wall, but he just kept praising my body.”

“ _Anything_ else?” Qui-Gon pressed.

Anakin folded his arms in distress. “No, Master. The last thing he asked me was  _what was it he saw in you—_ meaning you, Master. He flattered me by saying I must be light, and good, even as a little kid—”

“What did you  _say_ ?” Qui-Gon gasped.

Anakin, uncomprehending, stared at him. “That it was just the opposite? I was too old and angry? He was kissing me, and then next thing I know blood is pouring down over my shoulder!”

Everything in Qui-Gon shuddered, and he felt all color drain from his face.

“Master?”

But before he could reply, the doctor straightened up and turned to Dooku. “It would cost a small fortune to save him.”

Dooku gave a nod. “Pull the plug.”

“ _What?_ ” Qui-Gon yelped, staring at his former master.

“It is a pity,” Dooku agreed. “But not even he is worth that much.”

“Then  _I_ will save him!”

“And then what?” Dooku scoffed, sending him an unconvinced  _look._ “Chain him hand and foot for the rest of his days? That wound was self-inflicted.” He glanced at Anakin's wide, horrified eyes. “Or did you think his neck spontaneously split itself?”  
Qui-Gon pushed past the Doctor to lean over the machine-sustained lost Jedi. “Obi-Wan. Open your eyes,” Qui-Gon murmured. “I'm going to save you.”

Ben obeyed, but there was a hostile sparkle in his eyes. “Why? You don't care. You have never cared.” His voice was strange, filtered through the machines temporarily sealing his trachea and silencing the pain.

“No, Obi-Wan. You have a future still,” Qui-Gon argued.

“I seem to have heard that before,” Obi-Wan scoffed, voice hoarse, “and the last time you said it, I ended up here, pleasuring men three times my age while little more than a child. Being used and cast aside, just as you used me and cast me aside. On the journey to Bandomeer, using my bond to you to save yourself and the passengers. And then again on Bandomeer, the entire time you were there. And again last night. I'm done.” He dragged his sharpened nail across his wrist—

“It's his fingernails!” Qui-Gon yelped, seizing his wrists and pinning them down to keep him from inflicting more damage, Anakin springing forward to stifle the bleeding—

Qui-Gon dimly registered being hit in the jaw, saw Anakin go flying, felt the Force shiver outwards, slamming all of them to the floor.

And then, trailing blood, the slave fled the room, like a beautiful ghost.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan only made it around one corner before the bloodloss dropped him to his knees. He wheezed, some of the tech still in his throat, the rest where it had been left when he tore himself free.

There was something in front of him.

He exerted all his strength to lift his head to see.

Dooku.

“This will lead to an investigation. They're going to find out you're Sith,” Obi-Wan mocked.

And then a lightsaber was burning though his chest, and his throat was the least of his worries.

“No,” the Count murmured. “But they might find out  _you_ are.”

Horror flooded Obi-Wan's mind, must have made it to his eyes, because Dooku smiled.

Obi-Wan collapsed to the floor, curling in a ball, the pain far too much to bear.

_Even my name._

Even that would be ripped from him.

A flicker of motion, and Dooku was gone, Obi-Wan seeing the red-bladed saber falling to rest by Obi-Wan's hand.

And then Qui-Gon was there, kneeling beside him, and he could  _hear_ the broken screaming of the shattered crystal, he would assume  _Obi-Wan_ had been capable of such terrible cruelty, to take a living thing and  _torment_ it until it went insane in agony, broken to his will—

There was only one way to save his name.

Give one last gift to the man who had taken everything from him. The only piece of himself he still owned, the only thing that had not been touched by men who did not love him.

Grief and despair flooded Obi-Wan's heart as he pulled down his shields. Tears filled his eyes, burning as he allowed Qui-Gon into his soul.

The man saw.

Saw Obi-Wan's agony at being rejected by him so long ago.

Saw a child's terror when the slavers attacked.

Saw the first traumatic time he was forced to give his body away.

But none of that was the point, what Obi-Wan was  _trying_ to show him—

And then Qui-Gon could see, feel,  _touch_ his Light.

There.

Qui-Gon sank his hands into it, his expression wondering, amazed—

And the last of Obi-Wan Kenobi was taken away from him, by yet another man who did not love him.

“I didn't— I did not betray— my Light—” Obi-Wan choked out.  _See it, believe me, please—_

But then, it would be Obi-Wan's word against that of a beloved former master.

_I never stood a chance._

Movement dragged his gaze to the side, and the last face Obi-Wan Kenobi saw before slipping into the warm, embracing waters was Anakin Skywalker's.

The being whose existence proved Qui-Gon hadn't rejected Obi-Wan for any of the things he'd claimed.

But because it was  _him._

A single sob escaped him as life fled, leaving his broken shell limp in the arms of  _a_ Jedi Master.

Just not his.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it was Qui-Gon's word against overwhelming evidence of every sort.

Qui-Gon couldn't believe the injustice of the universe, to allow such a broken child to bear such a stain after suffering so much.

_He gave up the last control he had over his own existence, what little there was left, so that I could clear his_ name.

But Dooku had cooperated with the investigation, and he was in the clear. Serenno was not part of the Republic, it did not have to abide by the superpower's anti-slavery laws, and there was absolutely nothing that could be done.

Qui-Gon could only stare at his former master and wonder.

There was no way in hell a slave in his house could have been a Sith without his knowledge.  _And I_ know  _Obi-Wan wasn't one._

So if he wasn't...

Where had all of the evidence come from? Visual, circumstantial, witnesses, holo footage...

_I think it's you, my Master._

But that wasn't something he could say aloud, because the moment Dooku knew he knew... but everyone else disbelieved him...

A chill of fear shivered down Qui-Gon's back.

“Master.”

Qui-Gon looked up to see Anakin.

“Please eat something. It's been weeks. It's time.”

“Time to what?” Qui-Gon asked, sounding defeated in his own ears.

“Time to move on. Please? I need you.”

“So did—  _does—_ he.”

Anakin set a food dish down on the table. “Master, you turned him away because of anger. And you took me, so he must have been  _really_ messed up. He had the potential. And... you're the only one who thinks he might be innocent. But you slept with him, Master.”

Qui-Gon scowled at his Padawan.

“I'm just saying, if he wanted to run a con on you... he did all the right things.”

“I suppose he killed himself for a con!” Qui-Gon snapped.

“It's not the Jedi way.” Anakin shrugged. “I've seen a lot of hellish things in my time, Master, but I have  _never_ once thought that was a reasonable step to take. You need to stop trying to save Kenobi. He didn't want to be saved. He just wanted attention and—”

“Shut up,” Qui-Gon growled.

Anakin, of course, never obeyed. “You're letting him wreck your life and  _my_ life! He made his  _own_ choices! I was a slave, and  _I_ didn't become a Sith! His turning is  _not_ your fault, and the living  _need you,_ Qui-Gon Jinn! Stop living with the dead!”

Qui-Gon looked out the window, for a half second thinking he could see Obi-Wan's face, marred by agonized tears, in the rain.

But it was nothing. Merely Anakin's reflection distorted by the lightning and shadows.

_My father's a serial killer, and he's out there hunting, and I'm his type, and everyone thinks I'm crazy._

_Everyone thinks I'm crazy._

_Now I'm the one crying in the dark and being turned away, seeing hell descend while no one makes a move to stop it._

_I suppose it's justice._

 


End file.
